Hallelujah
by Assumed Name
Summary: ...I lied about not being able to play the piano. I can play just fine.///Apollo Justice, post 4-4, Oneshot


**AN- Okay, third fic, first for Apollo Justice. Let's go. **

**This is just an idea that formed _somehow _and I ended up writing it. The song that goes with it is _Hallelujah _by Rufus Wainwright (methinks). It's not the lyrics that are really relevant to the story, but the sad mood of the song. Uggh, I just _had _to work off a song. **

**This isn't _meant _to Phoenix x Apollo at all, but interpret it however you want, I guess.**

**Meant to take place after 4-4, so little spoilers (that everyone probably already knew to start with) are evident, but nothing massive, you see.**

**(btw is easelessly a real word…?:D)**

* * *

"I never said I was treating you. If you want something, Apollo, you pay." 

Apollo frowned at the older man laughing hardily at the piano bench. He had no intention of sitting in the cold interior of the Borscht Bowl Club listening to a piano-happy man playing for the empty tables. He just wanted to talk to Phoenix Wright, ex-attorney, about these seven years past.

But no. He was just stuck with Phoenix Wright, piano-player.

"If you're not going to play actual songs, why play at all?" Apollo muttered through clenched teeth. The ice lining the furniture wasn't just decoration. "It's not like anyone's here anyway…"

"I don't take requests." Phoenix tilted his head down, his lips pressed into an irritating smirk. "Anyway, I gotta practice. After all, I **am** the head-pianist here."

He laughed again before one-handedly playing a flat, monotonous melody. Apollo cringed, annoyed by Wright's lofty attitude and intimidated by the oddly stale and melancholic atmosphere.

"Mr. Wright," Apollo tried to keep his teeth from chattering, "You know I came here to ask you about that one case…"

Phoenix stopped his playing and chuckled. With an unnerving harmony of notes, he leaned casually on the piano keys. "Hmm. You learned as much as you need to about _that_ while you were investigating the Misham case. I have nothing more to add to that. I have nothing left to hide…"

Apollo felt a tightening around his wrist and, despite himself, smiled.

'_**Yes you do. I got you now, Mr. Wright!'**_

"Mr. Wright, when you said the word 'hide', your right index finger began to lightly tap one of the piano keys. I believe you're still hiding something from me…" Apollo tried not to grin from his thoroughness.

Phoenix glanced to the side and let out a cheery sigh. "Ah, I forgot about your 'power'. You can't hide anything from Polly…" He gingerly fingered the piano key again, moving it without producing sound. "I guess there's one secret I haven't given up. I can't say it's oh-so relevant, but," he shot a playful look at Apollo, "You got me."

Apollo shot up, despite the cold. "Well? What it is?"

Phoenix sat upright and grinned. "I lied about not being able to play the piano. I can play just fine."

Apollo felt himself slump.

'_**The temperature in here just dropped…' **_

"I can sing too, but Trucy says I'm not too good." His laughter echoed through the cold, silent bar.

'_**That's a really dumb thing to lie about…'**_

Phoenix glanced at him with smiling eyes. "Let me guess, now you want some evidence, eh, Polly?"

Apollo rolled his eyes and got up to leave. "Uh, no thanks. I kind of wanted to talk about something important, but…"

"Don't."

Apollo turned to find a cold glare, colder than the freezing room itself. His smile was still present but it was eerie and cryptic. The room's atmosphere became suffocating serious, if only for a moment.

"Let this old bird crow." His eyes softened again. "Just this once."

Apollo silently sunk back into his seat as Phoenix turned toward the piano and began to play. For once, his playing didn't sound like the random clinking and mashing of keys it usually was. Instead, the piano emitted a slow, somehow saddening melody. Apollo found himself flinching at the occasional flat key, but it was quite nice, coming from Mr. Wright.

"_I heard there was a secret chord_

_that David played and it pleased the Lord,_

_but You don't really care for music_

_do you?"_

Apollo felt his heart suddenly sink at the sound of Phoenix's young, raspy voice. Raspy and tired. Was it always like that? He carried the tune easily, though at the end of his breath, his voice would die to a dry sigh.

"_It goes like this_

_the fourth , the fifth,_

_the minor fall, the major lift,_

_the baffled King composing _

_Hallelujah…"_

His fingers danced across the keys as his voice faltered over the notes. Apollo stared, mystified. His shivering had stopped as he had been swept away by the melancholic song.

'_**Mr. Wright… why are you doing this?'**_

Apollo watched the older man's movements. The bar's dim lighting cast dramatic shadows across the dips and ridges of his face, twisting with his jerking movements. As if in a trance, his voice weaved through the sad, startling tune. Apollo felt it. With every thrust of the arms, every climbing note, every strained sigh, Apollo felt a surge of despair rock his body. He realized how typical this was. Phoenix's words, the song's wincing lyrics, meant nothing here. The story was in his hurt gestures and tired eyes. His confession.

His grand scheme, seven years in the making, was gone. Things had gone exactly as he wanted. So now what? A whole decade was gone now too. Ten years, a ten year battle, crumbled away almost instantly, the weight lifted off of Wright's shoulders.

So now what?

What for the battered man who lost his attorney's badge, his passion, and his redeeming purpose? He easelessly returned to his smiling daughter and the cold, lonely piano, in this cold, dim room. There he played a crying ballad to the only ones who would listen, the only ones who he felt he could relate to: the ice-covered piano he knew so well the past seven years.

And Apollo Justice, the attorney,

"_Maybe there's a God above_

_and all I ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone _

_who out drew you…"_

Apollo squirmed at the aching pity he felt for Phoenix. He felt like he should apologize, but it's not like it'd mean anything coming from him. His stomach sank, weighted shame and guilt. He hadn't done anything, but that was Wright's trick, wasn't it?

"_It's not a cry you can hear at night,_

_it's somebody whose seen the light,_

_it's a cold and it's a broken _

_Hallelujah…"_

Phoenix's voice finally died down to the brooding finale. Apollo didn't feel like moving anymore. The bittersweet song had left him warm, relieved, and paralyzed. Regaining himself, he tried to swallow but his throat had become dry.

"…_Hallelujah…Hallelujah…Hallelujah…Hallelu-u-ujah…"_

Phoenix's finger's collapsed against the keys and he let out a dark laugh. The room was cold again.

"Anything else, sir?" He turned to Apollo, misty-eyed and smirking. Apollo couldn't tell whether it was sarcasm or despair hiding in his weary smile. Trying his best to ignore the strange guilt aching in his chest, he tried to clear his throat again.

"I heard you don't take requests." He responded hoarsely.

* * *

**Dayum, I can't focus on stuff for more than a day. :\**


End file.
